


More Than Slightly Problematic

by Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, My First Fanfic, Smut, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-07 18:15:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b/pseuds/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is trying his very best to resist his feelings for Cas because he is sure they're unrequited. But when they get snowed in together in a cabin in the mountains, will all of that change over the course of a long weekend?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keeping Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little fluff and angst piece that I did. Kind of standard, I guess, but it's my first real fanfic, so hopefully it turned out all right. Please let me know what you think. Any comments will be much appreciated. Special thanks to Olivia for making sure I don't post anything that makes me seem like a complete moron and to the backspace key for always being there to help me out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sighs. He can’t keep doing this. It’s one thing to be physically attracted to the guy, but this level of emotional attachment is getting out of hand.  
> The problem is he has no idea what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, chapter one. The start of something new (Not that terrible song. Hopefully this fic will turn out better than that song.) Please comment; I love getting feedback. Hopefully there aren't any typos around the part where my cat decided to take a nap on the keyboard. Chapter two should be happening very soon. Thanks for giving this a shot and hopefully it won't be a complete waste of everyone's time.

This has to stop.

Dean is basically in denial. He’s been denying the physical aspect for quite some time now—urges and fantasies and weird dreams dismissed as random horniness, as having been simply too long since he’d gotten laid—but the rest of it, the other parts, those are much, much worse.

He keeps telling himself that it doesn’t mean anything. The fact that he utterly lights up when he hears the soft beating of wings. The fact that he imagines that sound when he wakes up in the dead of night. The fact that the other day, he found himself honest-to-god daydreaming about Cas’s eyes. It made him feel like a fucking schoolgirl.

Dean rolls over on the lumpy motel bed, Sam snoring in the one next to him. _Where does Cas sleep?_ he wonders. He probably doesn’t know what pajamas are, so he’d sleep in that damn trench coat. The mental picture of Cas wrapped up in the thing, snoozing peacefully, makes Dean smile, though he tries to resist. Although maybe angels don’t need to sleep. No, probably not.

He sighs. He can’t keep doing this. It’s one thing to be physically attracted to the guy, but this level of emotional attachment is getting out of hand.

The problem is he has no idea what to do.

And he finds himself making lists in his head, debating the issue when he should be asleep or working. How can he fix this?

Drop hints? No good. Cas wouldn’t get a hint if it sat on his lap and called him mama.

Get involved with somebody else, distract himself? Nope. There’s no one else available. And he already knows that that would never work, anyways.

Kiss him, maybe? Let him know about the physical desire and nothing more? Dean’s stomach churns. No way. That could go south very, very fast.

Stop spending time with him so he can get over it? This seems like the smartest option, yet Dean feels depressed just thinking about it.

Which leaves one option: just tell him. Tell him how he feels. Which is a terrible idea. Dean can’t afford to believe that Cas feels the same way. He’s an angel.  He cannot be—feeling this way about a human. Though he knows what Cas would say if he ever professed this aloud.

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

Despite everything, Dean’s answer remained the same on this particular topic: “Not in my experience.” There is simply no way that his feelings for Cas would be returned, because that would just be too good to be true.

But perhaps the most pathetic of all is what Dean says every time after Cas leaves. The first time he said it, they had been in Kentucky trying to hunt down some demon son of a bitch. They’ve just managed to kill it together. Sam is knocked unconscious in the corner. Cas says goodbye and Dean watches him leave, feeling oddly empty.

And as Cas vanishes with the soft flap of his wings, it hits Dean out of nowhere like a solid brick wall—the sudden urge to say it aloud, to take ownership of it for the first time. It feels like admitting something shameful, confessing to a crime, because after all, who is he to feel this way about an angel? He’s never even admitted it to himself, not even in thought. He never wanted to know for sure because if he knows for sure then he’s really, really screwed. But now all of a sudden he just knows it, that _of course_ kind of feeling. Something is trapped inside him, begging for release, and it’s a need stronger than his will, stronger than the need to breathe. It claws away at his insides, urging him: _Say it! Say it! Say it!_

So Dean obliges. The moment Cas is gone completely, the moment that the sound of feathers fades away with a tiny gust of wind, he whispers it into the empty air, his eyes bright and full of guilt.

“I love you,” he breathes, and his heart quietly breaks.

That was four months ago.

Now it’s just an automatic response. It’s just something he does, a routine, even though it hurts a little more every time.

Every time Cas disappears on him, he whispers it into the nothingness left behind. Every time, he says it just a moment too late, so that no one hears but himself. He had thought that it would feel good, that it would make things a little better somehow, but in fact it has only plunged him into deeper depression. He still doesn’t know what to do, and now that he has decided to admit his feelings, at least to himself, things seem worse than ever. There’s no getting out of it now. He’s stuck, in love with an immortal being who could never possibly return it. He tells himself not to think about it, that if he doesn’t think about it then it will go away, but that’s hardly easy.

He still falls asleep wondering what it would be like to have Cas there next to him, radiating his warmth and comfort. He still daydreams about how it would feel to hold that stubbly face in his hands. He still hopes that Cas will show up in the mirror behind him and scare the hell out of him again, and that when he turns around they’ll be too close, practically nose to nose, and electricity will dance in the air that occupies the small distance separating them…

No. Stop it, he tells himself. This cannot go on.

Cas continues to show up to help with their cases, and each time he leaves, Dean lets out the tiniest whisper behind him. Sam never hears, of course; he continues to be oblivious, though maybe not as much as Dean would hope.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” he asks after their newest case is finished and Cas is gone. “You seem really depressed lately.”

Dean brushes this off as he normally does. “I’m fine, Sam.”

Sam doesn’t look altogether very convinced, but he doesn’t press the matter.

They take the Impala to a small town in the Colorado Rockies where there have been some very bizarre murders happening. It’s pretty rural, so the only place for them to stay is in a little cabin on the mountainside. It’s really quite beautiful, which makes it a shame that they can’t spend much time there because they’re busy working on the case.

In the morning, Sam goes out to get donuts, and Dean stays in the cabin to do some research (Sam got tired of it for once.) They’re trying to hunt down some vampires in the middle of Kentucky but there are a few things that don’t add up. Dean searches the web but finds himself getting easily distracted, and soon he is thinking of the way the trench coat flaps around when he walks, his odd little gait, how he always wears his tie hanging loose—all the little things that make him Cas. And the feel of him, his lips, his hands, his back—

“Dean!”

Dean wakes up with a jolt; Sam has returned. He must have dozed off because there is a small puddle of drool on the desk where he laid his head.

“Yeah. What?”

Sam looks highly amused as he puts down the donuts. “Dude, that was some dream you must’ve been having. You were making some serious…noises.”

“Yes, I dreamed I was in a magical land called Oz and some green bitch wanted my shoes.”

“You get any new leads?”

“No, but we should probably check out the bodies, don’t you think?”

They head out to the morgue to look at the two murder victims—an old woman and a middle-aged tax accountant named Deborah Turner and Vincent Collins. Both appear to have been chopped to bits with some kind of long, curved sword, and on each of the bodies Sam and Dean find the same strange, rocklike, black substance.

Back at the cabin, they debate what it may or may not be, but neither of them have any ideas, so they decide to ask for a little help.

“Hey, Cas, we’re having some trouble on this one, so it’d be much appreciated if you could give us a hand…”

There’s a _flap, flap_ before Dean can even finish his sentence and there he is, trench coat and suit like always, tie nearly hanging lopsided off his neck.

“Hello, Dean.”

It’s so much his customary greeting that Dean almost says it with him. The sight of him, coat flapping a bit from the breeze of his wings, tie hanging uneven and hair messed up, is exactly the way Dean always pictures him, and for a second he can’t remember how to breathe.

“Hey, Cas,” he says mildly, and he has to hold himself back on saying how really nice it is to see him.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hi, thanks for coming. We’re kind of in a pickle here…”

“What is the problem?”

Sam explains why they’re having trouble figuring out these murders but Dean isn’t paying any attention—he’s too busy trying not to stare at the crook of Cas’s neck, which is just begging for him to turn and press a kiss into it. No—no, he can’t daydream about this, it’s too painful. Come on, Dean thinks. Snap out of it.

He clears his throat.

“So what do you think,” he asks, “Can you help us?”

Cas just looks at him.

An hour later, they’re out at the accounting firm where this Vincent Collins guy worked and Cas looks so utterly out of place. If Dean just saw him on the street he’d probably think he was some weird, half-crazed homeless guy. Sam decided to do some more research (obviously he just wants to indulge his nerd instincts) so it’s just him and Cas, and Dean is trying to keep himself from looking over at the angel every five seconds.

It’s funny, he thinks, the way he differentiates between _Castiel_ , the powerful angel who stows away all his ancient knowledge behind that fierce gaze, the one who can fight like a badass and basically vaporize demons with his holy superpowers, the one that scared him on the second time they met, in Bobby’s kitchen after the raising of the witnesses, who made him back up against the counter like a little girl because for the first time he understood the threats he was issuing were very real and very terrifying. There is a separation, somehow, between that _Castiel_ , the fiery warrior of God, and his _Cas_ , the I-do-not-understand-that-reference one, the one who was so utterly petrified that time they went to a “den of iniquity” and told a stripper about how her dad hated his job at the post office, the one who held his FBI badge upside-down like a doofus; the sweet, adorable, innocent one. Dean isn’t sure when exactly he’d started calling him Cas, but it hadn’t taken long, really. That was when they had become friends, he thinks. Him and his blue-eyed angel.

Only Cas isn’t his, not really. Not in the way Dean wants, at least. Dean knows that, knows he has no chance, doesn’t get his hopes up. He can’t afford that only to be shot down again. Not with this.

“Okay,” Dean says, “when we get inside, show them the badge, and act natural. You can’t start talking about demons and shit again.”

“Why?”

“Because lying will always work better. Always.”

Cas just keeps that same furrowed-brow I-will-never-understand-humans confusion that he always wears and they go inside to question the police chief. Dean asks most of the questions while Cas sort of stands there looking confused. At one point, Dean has to elbow him in the ribs so he’ll stop staring at the cop so avidly. Cas has a weird habit of never looking away from people, and Dean knows it probably freaks them out because his gaze is so intense. It’s like he’s staring straight through them.

They leave, and just in time, too.

“He ought to stop blaming himself for when his wife left him,” says Cas. “He should never have married her in the first place.”

Dean shakes his head, exasperated. “You weren’t going to tell him that, were you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, Cas, you can’t just go looking into people’s eyes like that and suddenly knowing their greatest secrets. You’ve gotta respect their privacy.”

“Privacy…I see.”

Cas is so sweet when he doesn’t understand humans at all. Dean can’t stop thinking about it. Cas leaves, with the promise to come back and help them some more tomorrow, and Dean feels far to sad to see him go when he knows he’ll be back in 10 hours.

“See ya tomorrow,” he says, and Cas nods and disappears, leaving Dean staring at an empty room.

“I love you,” he whispers, just like always, and it feels like a dagger but he has to say it. He hates keeping secrets from his friends, but this is one thing he will have to keep to himself, no matter how much he wishes he could just admit it.

Dean lies awake in bed trying his very best to let his thoughts stray anywhere but his blue-eyes friend.

Easier said than done.

He finds himself dwelling on about all Cas’s little habits that he’s had to correct in order to seem human. Like the whole personal space thing, which in fact is no longer an issue, but Dean finds himself wishing it is just so he’d have an excuse to be so close to Cas, if only for a moment. He radiates this strange energy, like a pulsing heat, and Dean wants to absorb it, feed off of it. He feels like a junkie; he _needs_ that energy, that closeness, and he needs it desperately.

Thinking about it makes him ache, and he falls asleep imagining the feel of his hands in Cas’s hair.

It feels like home.


	2. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It crosses his mind that this is exactly what it’s like to want something you can’t have. It’s torturous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two, you guys. It's shorter than the last one but it was about three in the morning when I finished because I just couldn't bear to wait until the next day to work on it. In fact, I started this one immediately after posting chapter one, so hopefully it's not too redundant. Comments are appreciated, and thanks a lot for reading.

The next morning Dean wakes to see a large khaki blob on the ugly wood-paneled wall opposite him. He rubs his eyes and realizes it’s a trench coat, which makes him bolt upright in bed.

“Jesus, Cas! Do you have any idea how creepy that is?”

This statement doesn’t seem to affect him at all. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hi. Don’t do that, okay?”

“My apologies.”

Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m assuming you have some new leads on the case, otherwise you wouldn’t be going all Paranormal Activity on me.”

Cas makes his I-do-not-understand-that-reference scowl and Dean just has to smile. He can’t help it. “Okay, well, let me get dressed and stuff…”

An hour later, the three of them head out to check on some new leads. Dean can’t stop thinking about Cas’s eyes on him while he slept. He wishes that Cas slept so he could know what it would look like. All the lines of his face smoothed over, peaceful and undisturbed. It would be sweet, he thinks. Almost infantile.

Their new leads don’t yield much; only that someone new had been killed, a teenager named Brady, who was apparently clawed to death by some kind of animal. Pieces of the same strange black rock were found at the crime scene, so Sam, Dean and Cas head back to the cabin and eat lunch. Dean peers out the window; it’s so overcast that it’s dark as night out there.

“I think a storm is coming,” says Cas matter-of-factly.

Dean rolls his eyes but inside he’s laughing. “Oh, really? What was your first clue?”

Sam is frustrated. “Dammit, we had some more leads to track down! We won’t be able to go anywhere there’s a fucking blizzard out there.”

“Couldn’t Cas just zap us around?”

“Nobody’ll be out there. There won’t be anyone to question, and the storm will probably obliterate all the evidence.”

Dean shrugs. “Oh well. I guess we’re stuck in here, then.”

For some reason Sam is really agitated and he starts pacing. Cas looks mildly concerned and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Sam. Dude. Calm down. What’s the big hurry here?”

“Nothing, just—”

He stops pacing for a moment and glances out the window. “Maybe I have time to…” He suddenly grabs the car keys off the counter and heads for the door. “I’m going to see if I can find anything!”

“Are you crazy? You won’t be able to see a damn thing out there!” he called after his brother, but too late: he was already gone. “Sam!”

Dean turned and threw up his hands in exasperation, despite the fact that his heartbeat was already speeding up from being alone with Cas.

“Do you have any more ideas on the case?” he asks, trying very, very hard not to be nervous. Cas shakes his head.

His tie is still hanging lopsided. In fact it might be backwards. Dean chuckles and Cas looks up at him.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“Do you even know how to tie a tie, man?”

He hesitates. “Not exactly.”

Dean shakes his head, laughing. “C’mere, I’ll show you.”

Cas crosses the room in two lengthy strides. “All right.”

Dean reaches out and undoes the necktie, and half of his brain is screaming at him: _Are you insane? You’re supposed to be trying to get over him, not torturing yourself more!_

But the rest of his brain is so desperate with that simple, insatiable need to be close to him, to feel his heat, and that part is winning (clearly.)

Dean fights to keep his voice steady as he reties the tie. “So, first you loop it around like this…”

Cas’s neck is stick straight but his eyes are fixed avidly downward on Dean’s hands as they work the strip of cloth into the proper knot. Dean’s mouth has suddenly gone dry, and he concentrates very hard on the tie and not on his proximity to the angel, or what he smells like…some odd combination of spearmint and honeysuckle, and something else, something uniquely Cas…

“Are you all right, Dean?” he asks suddenly.

“What?” Dean’s heart pounds and he thinks _oh god, he knows. He knows._

“Your hands are shaking.”

Relief floods through him but his stomach drops through the ground at the same time. “Oh.” Dead giveaway. Does he know? Dean doesn’t think so but it’s awfully hard to tell through those inscrutable blue eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

He forces himself to look away from Cas’s face to the tie, limbs stiff with the ache of being near him. “So, uh, then you pull the shorter end through…and that’s it.”

He looks up and notices that Cas’s eyes are no longer fixed on his own neck but on Dean, with an intensity that probably should make him uncomfortable but somehow doesn’t. It’s like they’re middle schoolers having a staring contest, and neither of them seems to have the strength to look away.

No, no, Cas just doesn’t ever feel the need to look away. He isn’t human and cannot be expected to behave as such. Dean is the one who can’t manage to tear his gaze from Cas’s brilliant blue eyes. The air between them seems electrified, and they are connected by an invisible beam that he cannot break. Dean’s head starts to spin and he realizes he can’t breathe. At the same time, he’s suddenly conscious of the fact that his hands are still gripping Cas’s tie and they won’t seem to budge. It crosses his mind how easy it would be to yank on the tie and pull him in for a kiss. It would be so…no. Stop it. He shakes himself mentally and with a gargantuan effort, pulls his hands to his sides and holds them there stiffly. Neither of them moves away and they keep staring at each other for another electric second before Dean blurts out “Cas.” for no reason.

Something almost imperceptible shifts in Cas’s eyes, and he murmurs, “Personal space.”

Dean’s pounding heart sinks into his shoes as Cas moves away, muttering “My apologies.”

Dean swallows and turns away, telling himself he has no right to feel so crestfallen.

He suggests they watch some TV, and Cas obliges, so they sit side by side on the ratty old couch in the cabin. Dean is positively itching to scoot over right next to Cas and lean up against him. He can feel his warmth from the other side of the couch and it the ache to be near it almost physically hurts him. He has no idea what’s playing on the television because he’s too busy trying desperately not to stare at Cas’s jawline. Light seems to leak out of every pore; it’s like trying to stare into the sun.

Dean mentally whacks himself in the face. Not only was that last thought ridiculously sappy, but he is doing a terrible job of not being in love with Cas anymore. It’s never going to happen, he tells himself sternly. Not ever. Get over it.

The thing is, Dean isn’t sure he ever will. He catches himself thinking of Cas at the least opportune times, and in ways he would never care to admit. It goes far beyond lust—he’s like a moon in orbit around some monstrous planet, circling endlessly, unable to leave because of gravity’s relentless pull. He is bound to Cas, and whether or not he ever finds the strength to admit it to the man, he is more hopelessly, helplessly, haplessly in love than he has ever been before. He is a sad, lost little puppy. Pathetic.

Just being so close to Cas makes his heart pound against his ribcage like a metronome. He has to concentrate very hard on looking at the TV and the urge to turn and kiss him when he’s so close is so painful it’s almost tangible.

It crosses his mind that this is exactly what it’s like to want something you can’t have. It’s torturous.

There’s a sudden fizzle and a snap and everything goes dark.

“Cas?”

“Dean?”

They speak at the same time, searching for each other in the blackness. Dean stumbles his way down the couch, arms outstretched, and finds a flap of trench coat fabric.

“What just happened?” Cas asks.

“I think the power went out.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Hold on, I’ve got a lighter.”

Dean fishes around in his pocket for the thing and flips it on. In the dim light of the flame he sees Cas’s face, eerily half-lit. It scares him a little because the shadows that dance on it make him look like Castiel, the ruthless and wrathful warrior of god, instead of Cas, his friend, the guy who got so excited after Dean showed him what a crossword was and went on that whole puzzling spree for a month and a half.

He takes in a breath and blinks hard. “Hang on, let’s find some candles.”

They found some candles.

With the cabin only dimly lit and the snowstorm raging outside, Dean and Cas sit in the middle of the floor.

“So I guess we’re stuck in here,” said Dean.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Dean felt like wringing his hands. This was way, way too tempting. They were trapped, alone together, in a cabin in the mountains with a raging blizzard outside and no electricity. It was too much, way too much. He had to do something before he couldn’t hold himself back any longer and ended up professing his love to Cas. The very thought makes him shudder. It’s terrifying, the things that might slip out when he’s not looking.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone rings, and he answers it hastily after checking to see who it is.

“Sammy, you okay?”

“Yeah—I mean, I found a motel to hole up in until the storm’s over, but until then I’m stuck—”

“What did I tell you? You shouldn’t have gone out there right before a goddamn blizzard.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but listen—in case this storm lasts the whole weekend, do you guys have enough food and everything?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, there’s nothing we can do about it if we don’t.”

“All right, well, keep your phone on, okay?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, Sammy.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up and glances over at Cas. “Looks like we’re snowed in,” he says, and Cas nods seriously.

Dean swallows painfully. This is way, way too tempting. He has to do something fast before his willpower cracks and he ends up spilling his guts.


	3. Checkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And in all those years, you only ever loved one person?"  
> Cas seems slightly startled, as though this never really occurred to him. “Well, romantically…yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more fluff here. This one took me a bit longer for whatever reason so I hope you enjoy. Chapter four should be out within a few days. Comment please!

How did he not realize how fun it is to teach Cas board games? They found a checkers set in the back of the cabin and Cas has been going crazy over it all day.

“I believe I win again,” he says, the closest to smug that Dean has ever seen him. He shakes his head and laughs.

“Crazy, man! How are you doing that?"

Cas is grinning when he looks at Dean and shrugs. Dean feels his resolve wavering under that smile, and in the flickering candlelight his mouth goes suddenly dry; he has to look away and regather his thoughts. Funny how he fights demons and ghosts and monsters with no problem but one simple smile from Cas can unravel him in seconds.

“All right,” he says craftily. “Time to play something that you don’t win every time.”

He extracts a deck of cards from somewhere in the cabin and teaches Cas (with some difficulty explaining suits) to play Spit and Gin Rummy and Crazy Eights.

“Spit!” Dean yells, smacking the deck. Cas mutters something reminiscent of “Aw, man,” but Dean can see that he’s smiling.

“Human card games are so oddly named,” he remarks. “I understand Crazy Eights, but why is it called spit?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe whoever invented the game had a speech impediment, so when they won they’d end up spitting on their opponent.”

Cas gives him an odd look and then laughs, really, genuinely laughs out loud. It’s such a nice sound, like a chiming of bells, and so very rare, that Dean has to stop and appreciate it. He has to avoid looking Cas in the eyes for a full minute afterwards so he can get his breath back. Making Cas laugh gives him a surge of enormous pleasure. Maybe it’s wrong of him to steal these little moments, to cherish them in this way, but he can’t help it. It’s all he has.

They finish this round of Spit and Dean gets up to check the window.

“Still coming down out there. Gotta be at least four inches by now.” He shivers, and when he turns around Cas looks concerned.

“Are you cold?”

Dean blinks. “No—no, I’m fine. Why, are you cold?”

Cas shakes his head, and as he does so a little strand of hair shakes itself loose onto his forehead. Dean wants more than anything to be able to reach out and brush it back, and then maybe press his lips to the place marking its absence. Stop it, he tells himself. Enough of this.

Dean puts away the cards and realizes that Cas is eyeing him oddly.

“Were you ever married, Dean?” he asks suddenly, and Dean feels as though he has been abruptly shoved under a microscope. He clears his throat.

“Um, what?”

“I noticed a wedding ring that fell out of your bag the other day and I was curious about it.”

He blinks. “Oh. Um. No, I’ve…never been married. The ring is my dad’s. We kept it after he died.”

“I see.”

Dean swallows. “Were…you ever married? Or do angels not really do that?”

“We don’t have the same form of marriage, per se, but there is a celestial bonding process in which we can take part.”

“And did you ever…”

Cas is staring into space. He seems miles away. “No.”

Obviously he’s lost in memories right now, the bitter kind, by the looks of it, and Dean has to admit he’s curious. “But you came close.”

Cas looks at him with big, sad eyes. “How did you know?”

“Just from your face.”

Cas smiles a little, but it’s tinged with guilt of some kind. “Yes, I came close. Once. I was…as you might say, engaged…to another angel, named Ambriel. She was…”

He trails off, as if he cannot find adequate words to describe Ambriel. Eventually, he goes with “Lovely. But she didn’t quite care for me as much as I did her. She…broke it off.”

“She dumped you?”

“More or less, yes.”

“That sucks, man.”

“Yes.”

“Hold on, aren’t all angels supposed to be siblings or something?”

“Well, yes, in a sense. Consider us distantly related.”

Something a little depressing occurs to Dean. “Wait a minute, Cas—how old are you?”

Cas blinks. “I don’t see how—”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m…not sure I know exactly. Very, very old. Several millennia.”

“And in all those years, you only ever loved one person?”

Cas seems slightly startled, as though this never really occurred to him. “Well, romantically…yes.”

“ _And_ you never had sex? Not even once?”

He clears his throat and stares uncomfortably in the opposite direction. Dean takes that as a yes.

Cas seems anxious to change the subject. “What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

Dean cannot believe they’re having this girly conversation. He feels like he should be wearing a tutu. But he answers the question regardless. “Yeah. A few times.”

Cas raises an eyebrow as if to say “Would you care to elaborate?”

“I mean, in high school it was this girl Cassie. Cassie Robinson. And she, uh…well. She dumped me.” He shrugs. “And then there was Lisa, I guess.”

He didn’t mention the recent one.

“And then…” says Cas, and the butterflies in his stomach turn into jackhammers. Oh shit, oh shit, he’s figured it out…

“Th-then what?” he says as calmly as possible, struggling to keep his voice from shaking.

“Oh, just the way you talked about it implied that there were more than two.”

“Oh, um, no.”

Cas nods, staring at him intently, and Dean can’t take it anymore because they’re close, too close—he feels his face flooding with heat and he has to go, before Cas sees him blushing and catches on to what must already be painfully obvious. Thank god the man is oblivious to subtlety of any kind.

“You want a beer?” He asks. “’Cause I’d love one.”

“All right.”

Dean makes his way into the tiny kitchen. Once alone, he leans against the counter, breathing deeply. Calm down. Calm down. Just talking to Cas like this has given him a boner, and he can’t stop thinking about how close they were, how Cas doesn’t seem to mind putting almost no space between them…

He gives his head a little shake to clear it. Cas is not interested. He has to keep reminding himself of that, and trying not to think about Cas’s breath on his cheek.

It’s funny, really, the way he feels around his best friend. It’s not like it started abruptly at some point during their relationship. More…intensified. But the truth is, no matter how much he wants to deny it, he’s always felt this way about Cas. Corny as it may sound, that first time they locked eyes, as he shot bullet after bullet into the man’s chest, under the exploding fluorescent lights and the howling wind, under his wariness and alarm, he felt a jolt of heat run through him at that first moment of eyes contact. It was like getting struck by lightning. And now he’s best friends with the man and it’s pushing him over the edge slowly.

He grabs two bottles from the fridge and shuts his eyes for a moment, trying not to think about how Cas’s lips would feel on his. He can’t afford to think about it.

Because he knows he’ll never find out.


	4. The Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He drifts off to sleep quickly, and it’s peaceful, because he knows that as long as Cas is here, he is completely safe from harm; he’s got his very own guardian angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long. Just a bit more fluff, but this really is going somewhere, I promise! A special thank you to everyone who commented. New updates very soon. I'm thinking next chapter is going to be very important, so stay tuned. Hope you guys like it, and as always, please comment and tell me what you think.

“How many of these would it take to get you drunk?”

Cas is on his eighth beer. He’s a little more loosened up, but otherwise barely tipsy. He laughs a bit. “I don’t know. I’ve only been drunk three times.”

“In your whole—multi-millennia lifespan?”

“Yes.”

Dean halfway through his fourth, and his common sense is telling him that getting drunk right now is a terrible idea. He gets chatty when he’s drunk and that is the last thing he needs when he’s trapped in a small, confining cabin with Cas. But he can’t bring himself to put the beer away, just like he can’t bring himself to stop staring at Cas’s face. His head is already swimming a little from the alcohol, and he can feel his restraint crumbling. Only Dean doesn’t care, because the more Cas drinks, the more he smiles, and Dean won’t pass that up for anything. Cas is so serious with that stick up his ass all the time, and seeing him smile makes Dean feel like a small fire has been lit inside his chest.

He doesn’t want it to go out.

“You humans spend so much time on alcohol,” Cas rambles, examining the bottle closely. “It’s rather unnerving. Why is that, Dean?”

“No idea,” he slurs happily, hiccupping a little. After three and a half beers he’s having trouble seeing straight, let alone thinking straight. “It feels good, I guess.”

Cas nods seriously.

“We should play a drinking game!” Dean roars, and Cas, still in possession of his rationality, smiles and shakes his head.

“You are already very drunk, Dean,” he says. “Perhaps you should go to bed now.”

“No, I’m—” he hiccups—“I’m good.”

“You are far from that, my friend. I think you should get some sleep now.”

“No, Cas, I—”

But before he can say another word, Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and begins half-leading, half-carrying him over to one of the beds. “Come on, Dean,” he says gently. “You should get some rest.”

In his inebriated state, Dean uses up every last ounce of willpower to ignore the way his heart is skipping beats, the way he feels like he’s being electrocuted at the points where Cas’s hands clutch his waist. Every breathless, desperate fiber of him wants to lean in to Cas’s warmth, to bury his face in Cas’s shoulder, to grab the lapels of Cas’s trench coat and refuse to let go. It’s more than he’s ever wanted anything, to lose himself in Cas’s arms forever, and it’s the strongest he’s ever had to be to ignore it.

But before he can stop it, a little sigh of pleasure escapes him as Cas hauls him toward the bed. Luckily, he doesn’t really seem to notice.

“Cas, I…” Dean feels himself mumbling but doesn’t know what he’s trying to say.

Cas doesn’t reply. He just lays Dean on the bed gingerly and tells him to get some rest.

“You are very drunk,” he says. Dean can already feel himself nodding off, and just before he does, Cas’s hands let go of him. He’s so past sense that as they leave his skin, he feels a pang of loss, and he catches one slightly, hooking Cas’s finger around his. It’s soothing and comforting and soft.

Cas obliges him for a moment and then extricates his finger from Dean’s grasp. The warmth fades, but he still feels his skin tingling where they touched.

He drifts off to sleep quickly, and it’s peaceful, because he knows that as long as Cas is here, he is completely safe from harm; he’s got his very own guardian angel. When he dreams, he dreams of Cas, what he tells the empty air left behind each time he leaves, and of every single possible way to say it, until they all blend together into one single sound.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

It echoes around his skull in a cacophony, like broken records overlapping, and after so long denying it to himself, it’s a bit of a relief, like stepping outside after being trapped in a stuffy room.

I love you, Cas

I love you.

* * * *

Dean wakes up with a pounding headache. All the lights seem too bright. Rubbing his temples, he sits up as slowly as he can manage.

“Cas?” he groans, for the angel is nowhere in sight. “Cas, where’d you go?”

No answer.

He stumbles out of bed, moaning, and heads into the kitchen to find a cure for his hangover. He settles on eggs; those always make him feel better. After a hearty breakfast he feels substantially better. Unfortunately, Cas is still nowhere to be found, and he begins to wonder if he said something last night that he can’t remember, something…bad.

Panic quickly starts to set in and a knot begins forming in the pit of his stomach. He clears his throat, feeling hoarse. “Cas?”

Still no answer. Either something bad had happened to Cas or he flew the coop during the night, which doesn’t seem likely at all, or he’s avoiding Dean for some reason.

On the plus side, this amount of worry has Dean feeling thoroughly sobered up.

“Cas?” he calls again, making his way from the kitchen down the hall. One of the doors is ajar, he realizes suddenly. Is Cas in there? Dean can’t think of any reason why Cas would need to use the bedroom—well, he can think of quite a few, but not why he would need to use the bedroom _alone_ —it’s not like he has to sleep or anything.

Creeping up to it quietly, he peeks into the little strip of light between the door and the room behind it, and as he does so, he has to stifle a gasp.

Cas is sitting there on the floor of the room with his shirt off and his back to the door. An enormous pair of black wings stretches out from his back.

Dean knows he should probably go before Cas sees him spying, but he can’t stop looking at them. They’re huge, and…oh, god, are they beautiful. He’s never seen anything that looked more like a living piece of art. They are great cascades of feathers blacker than night, with tiny grey baby feathers peeking out in between. They look so soft, and Dean aches to reach out and stroke them.

He starts to feel dizzy and realizes he isn’t breathing. With a Herculean effort, he turns away from the door and leans up against the wall, eyes closed, breathing hard. For some reason, he feels as though he’s just run a marathon, and the image of Cas’s wings won’t seem to leave him alone.

Why is it that he can see them suddenly? He’s always assumed that Cas is in control of whether or not other people can see the damn things. Plus, it’s not like he can feel them or anything. What with Cas’s personal space issues, he probably would’ve noticed…

He ends up remembering the personal space issues for longer than expected. Upon snapping out of it, he realizes he’s still leaning against the wall outside Cas’s bedroom. He’d better move before Cas comes out and realizes he was spying.

Back in the kitchen, he can’t help picturing the wings again, and a shiver runs up his spine like he’s been touched by icy fingers.

“Dean?”

He jumps; Cas is behind him, surveying him through his lashes. If Dean didn’t know him so well, his angel friend would be utterly inscrutable, but he can see the tiny shifts deep in Cas’s eyes, and knows that he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. Cas suddenly looks away, avoiding his gaze for some reason. Dean can’t figure out why; did he say something, maybe? Did he let something slip when he was drunk last night? He doesn’t think so. He remembers it most of it pretty well, and as far as he knows he never said anything incriminating. So why does Cas look so uncomfortable all of a sudden?

Maybe, just now, he could see something in Dean’s eyes. Maybe he’s finally starting to catch on.

No. Dean watches as Cas stares intently at his left shoe, seemingly deep in thought. No, the angel remains as charmingly oblivious as ever. He wouldn’t have noticed anything unless it was blatantly obvious, and as hopeless as Dean might be, he’s actually pretty good at concealing his feelings.

Something happened between the time he fell asleep last night and right now. Something is wrong.

Dean clears his throat to break the ice. “Uh, where were you earlier? I called for you a bunch of times but I couldn’t find you.”

“I was in the other room,” Cas says blandly, still looking at his shoe. “I…did not hear you.”

“Really? Because I was calling pretty damn loud.”

Cas looks up at him finally, seemingly a tiny bit irritated. “Yes. Really.”

Dean stares for a second, then lets it drop. “Okay.”

He turns and opens the fridge peering inside to hide his face. “I made eggs,” he ventures. “You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay…any change in the weather? Is it clearing up at all? I’ve tried to call Sammy but I can’t even get service.”

“None whatsoever. It appears we are still snowed in.”

There is something troubling in Cas’s tone. It’s nearly imperceptible, but it’s there, and Dean doesn’t like the way it sounds. He turns to find Cas observing him closely with a very odd expression on his face, like he’s trying to figure something out but at the same time doesn’t quite want to know.

“Hey, you okay?” he asks. “You seem a little…off.”

It takes a minute for him to get a reply. “I am fine.”

Obviously this isn’t true, but Dean doesn’t want to press the issue. “Okay.”

Cas is obviously distracted by something or other, and Dean can’t figure out what it might be. They relight some of the candles that went out during the night and he’s almost tempted to put his coat on. Clearly the wind is picking up outside.

Cas drops the matches and bends over to pick them up, and Dean struggles not to check out his ass. This is too hard, he thinks. Being stuck here with him is going to be the death of me, I swear. I need to distract myself again.

He gets out the deck of cards again. “Listen, Cas, I gotta teach you how to play James Bond, it’s one of my favorites—”

“James Bond?”

“Yeah. It’s the name of a—forget it. Dude, seriously, would it kill you to watch a movie or something? How do you not know who James Bond is? You’re totally uncultured. It’s just sad, man.”

Cas crosses his arms. “I am not _totally uncultured._ ”

“Whatever you say.”

He pauses, and something occurs to him. “Aren’t there any Enochian card games?”

“Yes, but we don’t use the same type of decks as you do.”

“Can you make an adapted version?”

Cas considers it for a moment. “I suppose.”

So Cas teaches him complicated Enochian games with names that are difficult to pronounce, laughing when Dean gets the pronunciation all wrong, and Dean never looks away  from Cas’s face while he’s smiling; he drinks it all in, the way his eyes crinkle up around the edges, the way that just a hint of his pearly teeth shows through, the way his eyes shine like moonlight.

Dean repeats the last line to himself mentally. His eyes shine like moonlight? Seriously? What am I, a poet now? Good god. He shakes his head incredulously. Being in love with an angel is turning him into a chick.

But somehow he can’t bring himself to care about that. He just cares about the way Cas says his name while they’re alone together. It’s an intimate, gravelly sound that sends shivers up his spine.

“Are you cold?” he asks, and Dean blinks, trying and failing to snap out of it.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Do you want my coat?”

Dean blinks. In fact, he would love to wear Cas’s coat; it probably smells like him, that strange sweet scent that is uniquely Cas. But it’s a little too tempting so he finds himself forced to decline. “Nah, I’m fine. I’m not sure if you’ve ever washed that thing, so no thanks.”

“I don’t really know how to use a washing machine.”

He laughs. “Of course you don’t. Figures. Do you even own another set of clothes?”

“No.”

“That’s really gross, Cas, you know that?”

“As an angel I do not have the same hygiene requirements as—”

“Yeah, but, I mean, think about where that thing’s been! How long have you been wearing it, anyways? A year and a half now?”

“Approximately, yes.”

“Yeah. Definitely needs a good wash.”

“Very well. When we find a washing machine, you must show me how it works.”

Dean laughs again. “Will do.”

Before they know it, it’s noon, and Dean’s stomach is grumbling.

“I’m gonna make some lunch. You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

“Why do I even bother asking?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, dude, that was rhetorical, I wasn’t actually—forget it,” he laughs, shaking his head.

Finding the fridge rather desolate, he frowns. There’s really nothing in there but beer and some cheese.

“I wish we had some pie,” he sighs.

Cas gives him a funny look and then smiles suddenly. “‘Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires,’” he rambles. “‘The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.’”

Dean stares at him, utterly incredulous. “Are you…quoting Shakespeare?”

Cas grins. “I told you I wasn’t completely uncultured.”

“Good lord. Shakespeare? Figures we’d get stuck with Heaven’s dorkiest angel.”

Cas seems to realize he’s teasing, which is unusual, and actually laughs, which is even more unusual. Dean revels in the sound. It makes him feel lucky to be able to hear it. There are so many people who will go through life without ever once hearing Cas laugh. He’s fortunate, and when Cas laughs, he laughs.

“Seriously, man, we’re gonna have to have a Die Hard marathon sometime…”


	5. Either the best or worst idea he's ever had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there it is again: that happenstance, accidental proximity that leaves him aching so terribly, Cas’s face mere inches from his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's so short...and cheesy...and hastily edited. I'll update ASAP to make up for that. Shout-out to everybody who commented; please keep them coming. I love hearing what you guys think and constructive criticism is always highly appreciated. Thanks a million for reading this far :)

Dean’s stomach rumbles again, and Cas seems a bit worried. “Are you sure there is nothing in the fridge?” he asks.

“Yeah, unless you wanna have beer for lunch. Well, I guess that wouldn’t be too bad…”

Cas makes a noise that might be an honest-to-god chuckle. A year ago he never would’ve imagined it was possible. Cas, chuckling.

Dean shuts the fridge, turns around and leans his back against it, arms crossed. “Oh well.”

Cas begins to walk over, evidently to say something, but, gawky and clumsy as he is, trips over his feet and stumbles forwards towards Dean. He catches himself from falling at the last second, and his palms smack against the fridge on either side of Dean’s shoulders.

And there it is again: that happenstance, accidental proximity that leaves him aching so terribly, Cas’s face mere inches from his. Neither of them moves; Dean couldn’t if he tried and Cas seems to be paralyzed for some reason. Every nerve in Dean’s body is on fire, and Cas just stands there, surrounding him, so close he can almost _taste_ him. What he wouldn’t give for Cas to look at him the way he knows he must be staring right now, what he wouldn’t do just for one kiss on those perfect lips—

Something incredible happens next, something miraculous and confusing and strange—Dean could never, ever have prepared himself for this: a pair of brilliant blue eyes drifts down to stare at Dean’s lips, pupils clearly dilated.

And then, infuriatingly, Cas leans away, murmuring “Personal space,” again, leaving Dean pressed up against the refrigerator, breathless and utterly confused.

Cas is faced away from him, rubbing the back of his neck, and all Dean can think about is the way those eyes lingered on his lips.

Is Cas attracted to him? Is that what that was?

Dean wants so badly for that to be the answer, but he knows how dangerous it is to jump to the wrong conclusion in matters like this. He can’t get ahead of himself here. Just because Cas might’ve had lust in his eyes for one tense moment doesn’t mean they can or will be together. It was probably just a fluke, and at any rate, it absolutely does not mean that Cas feels the way he does. Dean knows for a fact that isn’t true.

He doesn’t even know what he saw, not really. Maybe he just saw what he wanted to see; maybe he didn’t.

Maybe Cas desires him. But the last thing he needs to do is act on it. He needs to get a grip.

But despite all these rational thoughts, Dean feels a small bubble of hope blossoming inside his chest without his permission. Despite the precautions he knows he must take and the things he knows he can’t assume, some small part of him refuses not to hope.

Cas finally turns to look at him awkwardly, his face unreadable; it’s impossible to discern what he’s thinking. Dean has no idea what they were talking about before and doesn’t bother trying to remember. He’s afraid he might collapse if he stays in the same room with Cas much longer.

“I gotta hit the head,” he mutters, and tries not to sprint away.

He locks himself in the bathroom and buries his face in his hands. Does Cas know what just happened? Is he thinking about it? Dean doubts that. The angel must still be oblivious, or he would’ve said something.

Calm down, he tells himself. Get a grip.

Dean knows he’s in love with Cas. He knows that he may very well be for the rest of his life (which honestly won’t be very long in all likelihood, given his chosen profession). He knows that Cas will probably never feel this way about him. But he still can’t help hoping for it.

No, he has to get this out of his head, this notion that Cas loving him back is even a possibility. It’s not. It never will be. He has to remind himself of that.

Okay, he tells himself, breathing deeply. Just act normal. Nothing really happened. Don’t act like it has. Don’t overreact. Just be normal and Cas won’t notice anything.

He heads out of the bathroom to find Cas examining the deck of cards again.

“These symbols are so strange,” he mutters. “What is this one called again?”

“That’s the ace of spades.”

“Spades…”

Dean laughs a bit, still on edge. But here’s Cas, acting the same as always. So Dean must behave likewise.

Nothing happened. Nothing.

* * * *

Two hours later, Dean has all but forgotten their confusing moment against the fridge (or so he tells himself).

Cas slaps the pile of cards in front of him and smirks. “I believe I win.”

“Dammit, not again! Cas, I swear, if you’re cheating…”

“I promise I continue to win with purity and fairness. Perhaps you’re just bad at this game.”

“Something must’ve happened to my poker face. I can’t bluff anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“’Cause you’re so hard to lie to. You’re so…innocent, I feel bad about it even when we’re playing cards!”

“I suppose that’s my advantage.”

“I’ll say. Hey, but don’t get used to it. I’ll crack you sooner or later.”

“Maybe. I’ll deal again and we’ll see.”

Dean grins at him as he hands out the cards one more time. In all honesty, Dean might’ve subconsciously been denying his competitive nature and letting him win a tiny bit just to see him smile again. But he’d never admit that to anybody, including and especially himself.

“Okay, ready…go!”

They’re playing Spit again; it’s a pretty fast card game, one that requires a lot of playing off of each other. Dean turns over card after card and slaps them down onto the pile, but Cas is somehow quicker, which is insane, since Dean’s been playing this since he was a kid and Cas learned all of ten hours ago. He has some sort of superhuman speed that must be angelic, which really isn’t fair in a card game.

“Spit,” Cas says, tapping the pile, and Dean swears, clawing at the air.

“Aah! Next time remind me that playing cards with angels is a terrible idea,” he groans. “How are you so fast?”

Cas shrugs, looking way too pleased with himself. “I had a good teacher.”

Dean grins. “Yeah, well you better count yourself lucky you’re my best friend, or I’d be kicking your ass right now.”

After a moment he realizes just how happy Cas looks when he says this, so innocent and grateful, like it amazes him that he is loved. He looks like it means the world to him for Dean to say that, like it lifts him up to know that it’s true.

But how could it not be true? How could Dean ever resist this man, with his clumsy charm and sweet smile? He sees now that there was no way to avoid falling for him; the gravity is too strong.

Dean starts to realize that he’s doing it again, staring at Cas without saying anything, and knows he should draw away. But if he breaks the silence, the magic will dissipate, and he can’t let that happen.

Cas is still smiling that perfect smile. The best part is the way his eyes light up like a Christmas tree. They normally seem so ancient, hiding away all that knowledge and power, but when he smiles like this, the years seem to fall off, and Dean is left staring at an innocent child.

He realizes suddenly how close they are; he must’ve been leaning forward without even realizing it. The pull is just that strong.

He remembers how he felt pressed against the fridge, with Cas so close, close enough to touch, and he feels that way now, like he could burst apart with how much he wants this.

This is it: his resolve has cracked. He cannot possibly resist that smile containing every damn thing he wants when it’s so close. Cas’s gaze is magnetic, drawing him in.

They’ve only been staring at each other like this for a few seconds, but to Dean, everything is moving in slow motion.

Is it really possible that Cas has feelings for him? Has Dean been equally oblivious this whole time?

There’s only one way to find out.

So he does something insane, something ridiculous and irrational and terrifying, something he never would’ve had the courage to do before two hours ago.

He leans in suddenly and presses his lips against Cas’s. The angel makes a surprised noise but doesn’t pull away. It’s just a kiss, sweet and chaste, a light pressing together of affection, but Dean feels like he’s melting at the contact; electricity runs through his veins instead of blood, and behind his eyelids, he sees fireworks.

It only lasts a second before Dean pulls away sharply. Cas’s eyes are wide and stunned, but they’re also filled with something Dean doesn’t recognize at all, something that scares him. He leans away in horror.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, then clears his throat, trying and failing to talk normally. His voice is shaking. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I—”

Cas won’t say anything; he just swallows like he’s trying really hard not to flip the fuck out. His eyes are huge and round with shock. Dean stands up clumsily and backs away without taking his gaze from them.

“I—I’m so sorry,” he repeats frantically, and then he turns and runs out of the room in panic, leaving Cas staring after him.


	6. Definitely not good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is exactly what he was afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things get kinda intense here (no, there's no angry sex, sorry)...I may have gotten a little carried away...  
> But I'll let you be the judge of that. New updates coming soon; I promise I won't leave you hanging off the proverbial cliff for too long. As always, please comment. I love to hear what you have to say.

Oh, god. Dean closes the bedroom door in a state of near hysteria and starts to pace.

What in the hell is wrong with you? He berates himself silently. Idiot! Why would you do that?

He sits down on the bed and buries his face in his hands, sinking into despair. Now he knows. Now Cas knows how he feels and there’s nothing he can do.

Well, now what? Everything’s going to be awkward now, and he’ll probably have to explain himself. God, no. This is exactly what he was afraid of.

But despite his panic, Dean can’t help remembering how sweet it was, the feel of Cas’s lips on his own. It was exactly what he’s dreamed about for so long. He’s never realized in all this time that Cas tastes like honey, for some reason. Or maybe it’s not honey, maybe it’s some sort of uniquely angelic sweetness he has.

No. Stop it. Focus. What’s he going to tell Cas?

Nothing. There’s nothing he can say.

Cas is everything to him. What they have, that “profound bond” they share, it’s all he really thinks about these days.

Dean remembers trying to tell Cas what he really means to him, so many times. He remembers, bloody and bruised as Cas hit him again and again on Naomi’s orders, saying “I need you.” He remembers keeping Cas’s coat in the trunk of the Impala just in case he impossibly came back somehow. He remembers Purgatory, saying “I prayed to you every night.” He remembers telling him “I’d rather have you, cursed or not,” and “Don’t ever change,” and “I’m not leaving here without you.”

He remembers every tiny gesture he’s made, whether intentionally or not, and he remembers the moment when he first knew he loved Cas.

It was long after he started being attracted to the guy. Dean has no idea how to pinpoint when that started. He only remembers that it irritated him to no end because he knew—knows—it would never happen. When he realized the full extent of the disaster his feelings towards Cas had become, he felt like banging his head against the wall until it bled. It was a stupid thing to do, after all.

It was right after they’d finished hunting down some demon sons of bitches in Vermont, of all places. Sam was back in the motel and he and Cas sat crammed together in the front seat of the Impala. It was the middle of a cloudless night; the moon was full and almost unnaturally bright. He looked over at Cas, sitting there with his hair rumpled, coat all crinkled and creased. He could pull off that whole disheveled look pretty well. His eyes shone under the moonlight like silver coins, and just seeing him like that Dean felt a pang, somewhere deep inside him, a desperate sort of longing that went far beyond the realms of the physical. That’s when it hit him. The realization slammed into him like a brick wall, and he thought:

Holy shit. I’m in love with him.

Of course he immediately denied it to himself (not that that was any use). But that was the moment he knew, really knew, just how stuck he was. There was and is no getting out of this rut. He can only dig himself deeper.

And now, after what he’s just done, he might’ve hit bedrock.

But it’s not _that_ bad, he reasons, right? It was just a kiss. Not that big a deal.

Oh, who is he kidding? He’s ruined everything and he knows it.

He sighs, rubbing his temples hard. There’s no point in putting it off; he may as well go and talk to Cas now. Drawing it out won’t make things any better; maybe nothing can make things better now. Maybe he’s damaged them beyond repair.

Steeling himself for the worst, he gets up from the bed and walks cautiously into the other room. Cas is standing in the center of the floor, staring into space, with a very confused expression on his face. His lips part slightly when he sees Dean, as though he’s bracing himself too.

Dean knows he should be the first to speak, should apologize for the kiss, but the words won’t come out, and all he can manage to do is clear his throat.

Cas bites his lip a little and lets out a breath. “You…” he begins, then swallows and starts over. “Could you just explain to me what that was?”

Dean sighs. “It was a kiss, Cas. I kissed you.”

“Yes, but—why?”

Why is this so hard to explain? “Because…I wanted to. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, okay?”

Cas stares at him for a very long moment and then replies simply, “Okay.”

Dean nearly does a double take. “What, that’s it? That’s all you’re gonna say?”

The angel is obviously confused at his reaction, and so is he, really. If that’s all Cas needs to say to get past this, he should count himself lucky. He’s getting off scott free. But for some reason it angers him that this is all the reaction a kiss will elicit from his friend. Cas has no right to be so calm while Dean panics and buries his face in his hands. He should at least be asking what it meant, if there was some meaning behind it. Isn’t he curious at all?

Cas holds out his hands in the classic “what do you want from me” gesture and says, “What else am I supposed to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ask what the hell just happened.” Dean really can’t put a finger on why this pisses him off so much, but it does, and Cas is looking more alarmed by the second.

“I did ask that.”

“You can’t possibly be satisfied with the shitty answer I gave you! Come on, man, you have a right to ask about this. Why didn’t you?”

“I…”

“Dammit, Cas, answer me!” he shouts, full of sudden, irrational rage. Cas just looks shocked at first, but then his eyes flash and he clenches his jaw. He’s going to stand up to Dean.

Good. He hates when the angel just sits there and takes it.

“I didn’t think it wise to press the issue, Dean,” he retorts through gritted teeth. “You were the instigator, after all, and you seemed to feel fairly guilty about it. I did not wish to make you feel any worse.”

“For God’s sake, Cas, think about yourself for once! I know you wanted to know! Why do you always have to try to protect me from everything?”

“Because we are friends! Why must you be so stubborn? I always help you when you ask me to! Why are you angry at me? I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Then why aren’t you furious right now? Dammit, Cas—”

“Maybe I am furious, I’m simply very good at concealing it!”

Both their voices are raised now, and if Sam were here he’d be trying to referee, telling them to calm down, joking about them disturbing the neighbors.

Only there were no neighbors. It was just him and Cas for miles around. They could scream themselves hoarse if they wanted.

“Yeah, well, obviously you’re great at hiding your feelings!”

Cas bristles angrily. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I never know what you’re thinking, I never know what you really want! Can’t you just be straight with me for once?”

“Just because you don’t understand the reason why I do certain things does not mean I am deceiving you! Perhaps I am simply not as aggressive as you are!”

Despite the raging blizzard outside, the room suddenly feels heated, and Dean is shaking with rage. Cas looks angrier than Dean’s ever seen him without throwing any punches.

“Who cares if I’m aggressive? I’m a hunter, you stupid son of a bitch!”

“Yes, and that’s really all that matters, isn’t it? Hunting always comes first, your needs always come first! You never stop to think that I might be busy before you call me down to help! You never hesitate!”

“Well, sorry if I ask for you to help us save people’s lives, it’s not like that’s important or anyth—”

“Other things are important too! Even when I was fighting a civil war against Raphael in Heaven, you had no problem calling me down mid-battle to help on your—”

Dean has finally reached his boiling point, and as he looks back on it later, he’s intensely glad that there was no one else around to hear it when the heated argument turns into a full-on shouting match.

“DAMMIT, CAS, I KEEP TELLING YOU—”

“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS CALL ME DOWN FOR HELP? YOU CAN FIGURE THINGS OUT ON YOUR OWN, WHY—”

“WELL, SORRY FOR TRYING TO SAVE PEOPLE’S LIVES FASTER! NEXT TIME THAT’S AN INCONVENIENCE, YOU JUST LET ME KNOW, AND I’LL—”

“WHY DO YOU HAVE TO ASK ME EVERY TIME? ARE YOU JUST USING—”

“WELL, YOU SHOULD’VE TOLD ME THIS WAS SUCH A PROBLEM FOR—”

“WHY ME? ALWAYS! WHY IS IT ALWAYS ME?”

Dean screws up his eyes in fury and bellows at the top of his lungs, “BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

He didn’t mean to say it. In the heat of the moment, it just—slipped out.

His eyes widen in shock as he realizes what’s just happened, and he claps his hands over his mouth, as if he can snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back in. Cas looks almost hurt; he stares at Dean with such sadness in his eyes that it’s hard even to look at him directly.

Dean wants to kick himself. He sinks down to the floor, face in his hands.

Now you’ve really done it, he tells himself silently. Now you’ve really screwed it all up.

“Well, now you know,” he says through his hands, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Now you know.”

Cas sighs, and the sound makes him ache. “I already knew, Dean,” says the angel.

Dean looks up from his hands, stunned. “What?”

He doesn’t get an answer. He swallows, barely even able to form words. “You knew?”

Cas nods.

Dean searches the angel’s face and sees nothing but sorrow. “How?”

The tiniest trace of a smile makes its way into the blue of Cas’s eyes as he explains quietly:

“You talk in your sleep.”


	7. Lamb's blood and pepperoni

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean groans. "Bitch."  
> "Jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost done here. I know, I know, I ramble. And it's sappy. Very much so. Sorry, guys.  
> Hope you like it anyways. Thanks for commenting, as always.

Dean can’t speak, can’t move, can’t breathe. All he can do is stare at the angel in utter shock as the words wash over him.

_You talk in your sleep._

And then, for some ridiculous reason, he’s laughing. Every trace of anger has drained out of him and all of a sudden the whole thing seems hilarious. The more he thinks about it, the funnier it gets. Cas looks concerned but Dean can’t bring himself to stop laughing and laughing and laughing until tears stream down his face.

When he eventually quiets down, he can tell by the look in Cas’s eyes that clearly Cas thinks he’s crazy now. He lets out a deep breath, utterly relieved; he is absolutely done trying to make sense of his emotions anymore.

“Do not misunderstand me,” says Cas seriously, taking a step towards him, which really is a terrible idea given the circumstances. “I only knew for sure last night.”

“For sure?” Dean gets out, and Cas presses his lips together.

“I…suspected for a long while, but never received confirmation.”

Dean nods and lets out a breath. “Look, if you want to leave, that’s fine. Things are probably going to be awkward now, so…” It hurts him a lot more than it should to say this.

Cas doesn’t answer him; he averts his eyes, and Dean furrows his brow.

“Cas?”

“I…Dean, I have no idea how these things are dealt with, I…”

He trails off, looking utterly lost, and Dean suddenly realizes what he failed to recognize in Cas’s eyes after they kissed, and why it looked so alien on this ancient, powerful angel: it was fear.

Cas is afraid.

Why?

“Cas…”

Neither of them knows what to do; it seems they have reached a standstill, a stalemate. Dean has nothing left to say, and Cas…it’s getting harder and harder to know what Cas is thinking.

The angel wrings his hands helplessly, and Dean feels a pang of pity for him; clearly he hates not knowing what to do.

“Dean, I am still…emotions are new to me. I find them difficult to navigate. I just…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and Dean is totally perplexed, with no idea where he’s going with this.

“I believe I need some time to sort them out. But I do know that I—I don’t want to leave you right now.”

Dean’s stomach drops through the floor. This isn’t fair, for Cas to say things like that, things that will make him hope. It’s not fair to his already damaged heart.

“Cas, what…what is it you _want?_ ”

The angel sighs. “I don’t know.”

Dean nods. “Okay. That’s fine, Cas, really—”

He shuts up at this point because out of nowhere his cell phone rings, which makes him jump about three feet in the air.

“Sam?”

“Hey, Dean—” Sam’s voice is garbled through the phone. “Listen, I think the storm’s calmed down a bit—and I think I also might’ve solved the case.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope. I’ve been holed up in the local library doing some research…I think the phone’s about to die, though—”

“We’ll get there as soon as we can.”

Dean hangs up the phone and turns to Cas.

“Sammy’s solved the case.”

* * * *

Sam is waiting for them when they arrive at the library. He’s right, the storm has definitely subsided for the most part.

“Hey, guys. So I think—”

Sam glances up at them and stops midsentence.

“What?” says Dean.

The younger Winchester looks a little bemused as he surveys Dean and Cas. “Nothing, just—is something wrong with you two? You seem a little…off.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “No, Dr. Phil, we’re fine, thanks. Can we get back to the case?”

Sam clearly doesn’t believe him but doesn’t press the issue. “Yeah, um…” He flips open a book on the nearest table until he reaches the desired page. “Okay, here. I found two Pagan Aztec gods that might fit the bill.”

The three of them lean over the book and read:

_‘Itzcoliuhqui-_ _The Twisted Obsidian One, the God of the Curved Obsidian Blade. God of darkness and destruction. Blinded and cast down from the heavens, Itzcoliuhqui strikes out randomly at his victims._

_Itzpapalotl- Obsidian Butterfly. Beautiful, demonic, armed with the claws of a jaguar. The female counterpart of Itzcoliuhqui.’_

“Itz—I’m not even going to try to pronounce that,” he says. “Okay, this does seem to explain things. The first few victims were chopped to bits, probably with this Curved Obsidian Blade thingy, and then the last one was clawed to death—”

“—which makes sense because the goddess has the claws of a Jaguar.”

“And that weird black rock we found on the bodies must be Obsidian, then.”

“Yep.”

“Great. So we know what they are.” Dean attempts to ignore the rather distracting fact that Cas keeps shooting furtive glances in his direction and hasn’t said a word this entire time. “Now how do we kill them?”

“Um…I think it says they can only be killed by a sharpened silver knife soaked in the blood of a lamb.”

The convenience of this is surprising and slightly impressive. “Wow. Good thing we have plenty of lamb’s blood left over from that ritual last week.”

“As well as several knives of the silver variety,” says Cas, speaking for the first time since they got there.

Sam’s gaze darts between Dean and Cas perplexedly. “Uh…yeah.”

Dean clears his throat.

“Any idea who it is in the town?” he asks, and Sam nods.

“Actually, yeah, I’ve been asking around. There’s one couple who seems to fit the description.”

“Perfect. Let’s go then.”

They start walking to the car but Sam grabs Dean’s arm and pulls him back.

“Okay, seriously, what is up with you two? You keep looking over at each other. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cas so tense.”

Dean rolls his eyes; even though he hates lying to his little brother, he has no problem with it when it comes to matters like this. “Sam, I told you, it’s nothing. We just…we got in an argument, that’s all.”

“What about?”

“It doesn’t matter. Now can we go? We have some monsters to hunt.”

“Fine, but we’re not done talking about this. I know something’s going on.”

Dean groans. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

They drive to the house of the supposed Aztec gods and ring the doorbell. Cas is rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Cas, relax. We’re not marching into the jaws of death here. It’ll be fine.”

Cas looks at him and stops rocking.

A tall, tan woman answers the door. “Can I help you?” she asks politely. Her toothy smile is accompanied by long, curly black hair and legs that go up to Canada.

“Dear, what’s—” comes another voice from inside the house. An even taller man in a blue sweater steps in front of the doorway. When he sees the three of them, he stops midsentence and narrows his eyes.

“Um, dear,” he whispers from the corner of his mouth, “These are the hunters we were warned about…”

The woman’s eyes widen. “Is that so? Well, then I suppose it’s our pleasure. Do come in, hunters.”

Sam, Dean and Cas exchange odd glances.

“Uh, not thanks,” says Dean, discreetly drawing his knife behind his back. “I think we’ll stay right here.”

He lunges forward suddenly at the woman, who immediately throws a punch at him. Sam and Cas join the brawl, kicking and launching themselves into attack. Then the woman raises her fist and smirks—her fingernails elongate rapidly into a set of claws. Before Dean can knock them out of the way she has them at his throat.

“Enough!” she yells. “Stop or he dies.”

“Great,” Dean mutters. “I’m about to get ganked by a chick Wolverine.”

He tries to ignore the complete panic on Cas’s face.

“You know, I am so sick of hunters like you trying to take us out,” says the woman, her Aztec-god counterpart male nodding along. “You’re vermin, all of you. We used to be worshipped! People would make sacrifices to us all the time. Now look at us. Having to fight filthy cockroaches like yourself just to survive.”

She licks her lips. “Oh, well. At least I know what we’re having for dinner tonight, dear…”

She raises the claws on her other hand threateningly and starts to bring them down on Dean’s neck.

Of course, she never quite makes it that far because Cas has stabbed her right through the chest with their silver knife. Dean slips free and immediately stabs the husband as well.

“Who’s the vermin now, bitch?” he taunts.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Do you always have to have some snappy line to say after you waste somebody?”

“Yes. By the way, nice job there, Cas.”

Cas nods as though he’s trying not to look too pleased. “Happy to help.”

When they get back to the cabin, Sam says they should order some pizza.

“Sounds good to me,” says Dean. “Thanks god the power’s back on. I was scared I might miss Dr. Sexy M. D.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I do not understand the appeal of that show.”

“Don’t you dare insult Dr. Sexy!”

Cas looks amused, which is of course unusual for him; the expression looks odd on his normally pensive face.

“What’s so funny?” Dean can feel his cheeks heating up just from Cas looking at him.

Cas shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

Sam looks rapidly between the two of them as if he’s trying to catch something. There’s a slightly impatient look in his eyes, but that makes absolutely no sense so Dean figures he read them wrong.

“What are you looking for?” he asks gruffly, and Sam just blinks innocently and drops his gaze, only to let it flicker back after a few seconds.

Dean rolls his eyes. This is ridiculous. “Are we ordering pizza or not?”

Cas says he doesn’t want any (there’s a surprise), so they get two large pizzas with every topping they can think of, and Dean makes them watch Dr. Sexy M. D. with him until the sun goes down. Then they stay up like teenage girls, talking about hunting and food and all sorts of things. Dean says whatever he can think of to make Cas laugh, and most of the time, it works.

He’s still holding his breath waiting for the other shoe to drop, but honestly—he doesn’t dare say it in case he ends up jinxing everything—things don’t really seem that different since he told Cas how he felt.

His relief that it hasn’t ruined their friendship is immense and nearly overpowering, but somewhere deep in his mental wave of “Thank god”s is the tiniest twinge of disappointment. He has no right whatsoever to be disappointed—he knew Cas didn’t feel the same way, knew it right down to his core—but somehow he couldn’t stop himself from hoping.

When they finally decide to go to bed, Cas asks if he should leave, but before Dean can reply, Sam says, “Nah, man. We’ve been working pretty hard lately, and I’m gonna take a day off tomorrow. You should stay and hang out.”

Dean nods fervently. It’s pathetic how much he hates seeing Cas go. Cas looks at him for a long moment and says, “All right.”

His heart soars.


	8. What to do on your day off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning is surprisingly warm considering the storm; it seems to have been kicked out of town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here it is. At long last. Sorry I took forever. Yes, I know this chapter is very short, but I spent an annoyingly long time on it, so hopefully that's a sign of effort and not that I'm slowing down. But wait, there's more! This fic isn't quite over yet! Stay tuned, folks. New updates should be out within the next two days. Thanks for your comments and please let me know what you think.

The next morning is surprisingly warm considering the storm; it seems to have been kicked out of town. Dean and Sam get donuts from the general store down the road, then eat them while playing Boggle with Cas, who gets very confused at the way certain things are spelled in English.

“Why is there an ‘I before E’ rule when there seem to be more exceptions to it than words which actually follow it?” He pouts, frustrated. Dean laughs.

“Tell that to whoever invented the language.”

Cas opens his mouth, probably because he might’ve actually known whoever came up with English, so Dean cuts him off. “I didn’t mean that literally.”

Sam keeps glancing between them in an annoying fashion. It’s starting to get on Dean’s nerves but he’s doing his best to ignore it because he knows Sam would just deny everything if he brought it up.

Finally, after 90 or so minutes of Boggle, Sam gives Dean a long sideways glance and says suddenly “I’m going to go out. We don’t get a lot of days off.”

“Where ya going?” Dean’s mouth is full of jelly filling, so it sounds more like “Whrr a gmmg?”

“I think there’s a minigolf course down the road, I figured I’d try it out.”

Dean swallows hastily. “ _Minigolf?_ Are you serious? Dude. What are you, 80?”

“Ha ha. You don’t have to come.”

“Good.”

Sam rolls his eyes and grabs the car keys. “Okay, don’t wait up for me on dinner or anything.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

And with that, Sam makes a face at him—like they’re three—and heads out the door.

“You two have such a loving relationship,” says Cas seriously. Dean nearly does a double take.

“Cas…was that _sarcasm?_ Are you being sarcastic?”

The angel frowns. “Was I doing it incorrectly?”

Dean can’t possibly suppress a grin. “Nope. Nice job, buddy.”

Cas smiles at him sincerely, a real smile that makes his cheeks redden annoyingly. Then suddenly he drops the smile in exchange for a very, very serious expression and crosses the length of the room in a few strides, until he’s standing not too far from an extremely nervous Dean.

“Dean.”

It’s hard to concentrate with Cas so close, and after a minute, Dean realizes that he’s fixed his tie. He’s tied it correctly like Dean taught him, which is so sweet it makes him ache. Though with a pang, it hits him that it looked better when it was all messed up.

He shakes himself. Focus. This is serious.

“Um…yeah?” he says, trying not to concentrate on how far apart they are, which is _not very_.

“I…I have been thinking very hard.”

“Okay.”

“About what I want.”

Oh, dear god.

Dean’s heart speeds up and plummets through the floor at the same time. It takes him a minute to answer. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

They’re close, too close, and Dean can feel Cas’s breath on his cheek, can see the tiny flecks of light in Cas’s eyes, which are pointed at the floor with great concentration, unwilling to look at Dean. Dean knows that this is it, that everything’s about to end. It’s all over because he ruined it, and he prepares his heart to be shattered, because that’s what happens, that’s what always happens when he loves someone: they leave. Always.

 “I know that I reacted…rudely before,” Cas sighs. “I behaved the way I did because I was afraid.”

He takes a deep breath and finally looks a petrified Dean in the eyes, gazing at him with that intense, fiery heat that he generates so easily. Dean has to keep reminding himself how to breathe.

“But I’m not afraid anymore.”

It’s a cheesy line, a cliché, but it makes his heart stop nonetheless, because he’s daring not to hope it means what he wants it to mean. It’s hard to talk; his mouth has suddenly gone very dry.

“Cas…what are you…”

“What I’m saying is I know what I want now.”

He swallows with great difficulty. “And that is?”

He tells himself to calm down, tells his heart to stop pounding like a hammer, but his body will not oblige. Cas’s eyes pierce right through him like a laser beam as he says, “You.”

For once, Dean doesn’t care that they’re having a chick flick moment, doesn’t care that that’s possibly the sappiest thing Cas could’ve managed to say to him, doesn’t even mind the fact that his heart has now full-on stopped, because he’s just heard the very thing he thought was so unreachable for so long.

“Really?” he asks, barely audible, and Cas nods.

That’s a good enough answer for Dean.

He smiles, barely able to believe it. He didn’t realize it before, but now the distance between them is far, far too much, and suddenly he hates it with a passion, needs to eradicate it. He leans in, this time with permission, and there’s a smile in Cas’s eyes as they press their lips together.

It tastes so good, that unique angel blend of his, and Dean wraps his arms tightly around Cas’s waist. Cas responds enthusiastically, deepening the kiss, leaning in, holding Dean’s face in his hands. Dean would’ve expected him to be a bit clumsy, since he’s only done this once or twice before, but _damn_ is he a fast learner; he never could’ve predicted the way Cas knows exactly how to move his lips with Dean’s, so perfectly that it makes him moan into Cas’s mouth. It’s not so chaste anymore, and the tension is delicious, like pouring cold water on a hot plate so that it cracks. That sense of urgency, that ravenous hunger  is growing quickly with every second their lips move together. Dean reaches up to tangle his fists in Cas’s hair, and oh, god—the way Cas kisses him, the way he slams him against the wall and really _kisses_ him, the electricity as he runs his hands down Cas’s back. Dean’s getting dizzy, and vaguely he realizes he should breathe. He surfaces for the briefest moment possible, needing air but wanting Cas more, and how can his body require something as stupid as oxygen when Cas is here, right here, kissing him like it’s the end of the world (again). Dean doesn’t want to move his lips from Cas’s; they’re so soft, so sweet. His fingers grapple clumsily with the buttons on Cas’s shirt, the _correctly tied_ knot on his tie, but Cas seems to decide it would be easier to remove Dean’s t-shirt first. Desperate hands pull it over his head, and they’re panting, both of them, hands all over each other. Any space between them is a crime and is treated as such.

“Cas…” Dean breathes heavily, “are…are you sure?”

Cas grins and kisses him again, fierce and fiery. “Yes, Dean.”

Well…as long as he’s sure.

Dean grabs him by the lapels of his trench coat and pulls him closer, as close as he can. He wants Cas, every single bit of him, and it’s happening, it’s really happening.

“Cas,” Dean pants, needing him, and they are so intertwined now that it’s hard to make it over to the bed.

Thank god the cabin has a double.

Cas is on top of him, and Dean can’t let go of a single inch of him; their bodies are slotted together like puzzle pieces, a perfect fit, like they were made just for this.

Dean is a hunter. He’s dealt with a lot of things in his lifetime. He’s saved countless people, killed countless monsters, lost countless friends. He’s been to hell and back, stopped the apocalypse, come face-to-face with Death himself. Literally. He’s seen and done so much, and sometimes it feels like the weight of it all could crush him.

But right now, Cas on top of him in the bed, this is bliss. Cas is all that matters. Everything else has disappeared, and it’s just the two of them, alone in the universe: Dean and his blue-eyed angel.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is very warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue that I felt was necessary. Short and sweet.

Cas is very warm. Dean already knew this, but he feels like he’s only truly appreciating it for the first time now, being in his arms. It feels like the safest place on earth, and he doesn’t feel like moving. Neither does Cas, apparently.

Given what’s just happened, Dean feels the need to say it again, on purpose this time.

“Cas,” he whispers into the angel’s neck, “I love you.”

He feels Cas smile. “I love you, too, Dean.”

Dean’s heart shoots straight out of his chest and into the ceiling. He sits up. “You mean that?”

“I do.”

He never thought he’d be this happy. It terrifies him a little bit. He opens his mouth to reply, but what comes out instead is a yelp of surprise because the door has just swung open.

“Hey, guys,” says Sam, “I’m ba—”

He stops mid-word and stares at them, eyes widened to the size of tennis balls. Dean stares back in complete horror, but Cas seems relatively unaffected by Sam walking in on them lying in each other’s arms under the sheets.

“Dude!” Dean hisses, finally regaining his voice. “Out! Now!”

Sam backs out through the doorway and shuts it quickly, looking like he’s trying not to laugh.

Dean sighs and starts getting dressed. He nearly hides his face in his hands when, a moment later, Sam’s voice yells through the door: “I knew it!”

Once he and Cas are both fully clothed again, he opens the door. Sam is still grinning like a kid. “I figured I should give you two some time alone. I mean, if the whole damn weekend wasn’t long enough—”

“Wait a minute,” Dean’s eyes narrow, “You planned this?”

“Of course I did. The tension between you two was getting really annoying. I thought maybe you needed some space.”

Cas shrugs. “I suppose you were right.”

Dean groans and shakes his head. Unbelievable. “You do not mention this to anyone. ANYONE. Understand?”

If possible, Sam’s grin widens as he nods and says, “It’s about damn time.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, that's it. Thank you so much for your feedback and for reading my first real fanfic. I love you guys!
> 
> *peace out*


End file.
